Sunlight poured into the east window and south windows of the High Lord’s Hall, painting splotches of color on the platform. Sofan and Rort, arrogance in every line of their bodies, stood on it already.

“Come down from there,” Arianya said. “You know the ritual: first we pray.”

Sofan shrugged and stepped down; Rort merely scowled and followed his Marshal. Arianya led them to the altar, where all the light was blue or silver. The witnesses knelt with her. Sofan and Rort waited and knelt after. Arianya ignored them, fixing her mind as best she could on Gird and the High Lord. Was there a way to end this without violence? She could think of none. Then how was she to proceed? She let the weapons run through her mind: hauk, staff, pike, sword, bow, ax … a phrase from a later revision of the Code came to mind: Whatever custom is for a grange or group of granges, it is always meet for the commander to bear a sword.

She sensed a touch on her head and then a presence moving away, but still within the hall, and stifled the part of herself that wanted to ask the outcome.

When she rose, the others did as well. Prayer had left her clearheaded, her anger cooled to a reservoir of determination. “You have challenged me,” Arianya said to Sofan. “Do you renew that challenge in this holy space?”

“I do,” he said. “And further: I intend to prove with your life’s blood that you are no fit Marshal-General.” A murmur rose from the witnesses, and he shouted at them. “She is not. She has brought magery on us by her weakness. She punished my aunt’s daughter, Marshal Haran, for naught but telling the truth to that so-called paladin Paksenarrion. We saw that craven in our vill, saw her feared of the sheep she was hired to herd.”

“Do you dispute that Paksenarrion is a paladin?” Camwynya said, her light filling the hall as if a sun had risen inside it.

“She was not a paladin then. She was weak—”

“Let it be, Camwynya,” Arianya said. “His real quarrel is with me, not Paks.” Camwynya’s light lessened.

“Indeed it is,” Sofan said. “But I am not surprised you bring in a paladin to take your part. You are afraid to face me alone.”

“No,” Arianya said. “The Code requires witnesses to any trial of arms between Marshals. High Marshals, bring forth the swords.” She unwrapped her own sword belt; Sofan and Rort had been disarmed already. Now Sofan looked uncertain for the first time.

“Swords are not traditional—”

“They are when you challenge a Marshal-General,” Arianya said. He made no more complaint. She took one of the three blades the High Marshal offered her after testing the balance of each. Sofan took one of the three offered him. They stepped up on opposite sides of the platform; the witnesses closed in around it.